Cx72 Poetry: Laura DeutschJune 07, 2019
Game of the Gambler
The hotel has infinite rooms,each one is haunted.A generation caughtin between old mythologies andnew ones - an eternal loss repeatingeach time we are born back into Time.
Bound between realities, the onesI have felt and the ones that have happened -that little crack in them that sometimes opens too quickly:How do you fight something that is who you are,a demented map in the shape of you?
I feel like an egg that won’t crack. Or, one that has cracked into so many pieces that there is no possibility of fusion, no hope
But no, that is too worthy of a path for me.
I lack the energyto excite a crack like that.
Perpetually beforethe starting line,wide open to curses. I forgot a longtime ago how to light it.After enough confrontations,there is a welcome descent in walking down stairs.
I remember a dream telling him to do the back float.Certain explosions go off in one reality and I know I am there,and if you can’t shake off the lead coatyou must accept the picture as it stands.
Pray that the fog is a signal.
Every element must suffer itselfif it is ever to experience form.
I keep meeting mea thousand steps back:something about the aortathe way it expands and contracts,that is how the energy moves, I am certain.